Eye of the Beholder
by squeekness
Summary: Logan learns that how we see the past is up to our own perspective.
1. Chapter 1

Summery: Logan learns that how we see the past is up to our own perspective. Features Famayalin (Wild Child), Asher and Wolverine.

Notes: This story takes place in Kimbleverse – wait! Don't run away, screaming. There is an introduction provided below for those of you who haven't read any of my previous work. :)

Rated M for profanity, violence and some sexual content.

Disclaimer : I do not own the X-men or any of their associated villains, but all of the Siskans, the Dognan, Jael and the Outkasts are mine. Please do not use them without my permission. Thanks. :)

This is an illustrated work and the art is available soon on my website which you can get to by clicking on my profile.

**Updated 11-1-13** to add (break)s as needed and to fix errors.

(Introduction)

Howdy, peoples! I am writing this introduction for those of you who happened to click on this wondering what it and the Kimbleverse is all about. Well, a while back I began posting a long fanfiction that involved both the X-men and some characters of my own creation, most notably my own dear Kimble.

Bah, you say! Who needs OCs (other characters) anyway! Well, take into consideration that technically any new X-men after Giant Sized #1 could be considered an OC, they are not part of the original team after all. That would include some big names – Kitty Pryde, **Gambit**, Cable, Bishop, Maggot, Marrow, Psyclocke, all the Gen M kids. Are you getting the idea now? Yes, this story has a few OCs, but I'm asking you to let them pass or fail on their own merits, not because they are not original X-men.

My stories are kinda long, but they are Gambit, Beast and Wolverine heavy throughout so that should hopefully make up for it, LOL.

For those of you read comics regularly, Kimbleverse isn't all that far from our familiar 616 but I have made a few small changes, making it different enough that I have dubbed my little realm Kimbleverse. (Because I began writing this stuff ages ago, this universe ignores much of current Marvel continuity, including House of M, Civil War, the lame ass Gambit/Death Horseman Milligan disaster, and unfortunately the delightful Wolverine Lupine arc by Jeff Loeb that began after I had already written most of this.)

What the heck what went on in this crazy Kimbleverse you might ask? Well, it began about nine years ago when three X-men –- Beast, Wolverine and Gambit – got kidnapped by offworld slavers called the Dognan and were taken away to another world. They had some adventures there and made some new friends. They were eventually rescued and returned safely, but they brought along with them some of those new friends, including two Siskan Courtesans named Kimble and Seth.

What's a Siskan Courtesan? Well, some Siskan inventors created elaborate holograms not unlike those the X-men use in their Danger Room training sessions. These holograms were solid and real, serving as household staff and meeting their Master's needs – whatever they might be. Sexually skilled and compliant, they were highly prized and sought after.

Every once in a while, when a batch of these Siskans was made, one or two might come out differently. The Makers would call them defective, but what really happened was that they were far more self aware than the regular Courtesans, they were sentient and very much alive. They were also empaths to various degrees. The Makers called them the Lushna-esk, the holograms that could "feel". When discovered, the Lushna-esk were most often destroyed, but every once in a while, one of them would escape detection and be let out into the world.

Kimble and Seth were Lushna-esk Courtesans, but not by accident. Instead, they came from a special clutch of Courtesans that were created for a special purpose – the Game. All the Courtesans involved were Lushna-esk by deliberate design and they were scattered not long after they were made. The goal of the Game was to find as many of these special Courtesans as you could, a sort of scavenger hunt that took place across an entire galaxy. Each Courtesan was fated to find an angel, an object of some value. The more angels a Master might collect, the stronger he would become.

Kimble and Seth fell into the hands of the X-men by accident and were given a home with them where they were well cared for. Later the X-men would learn of the Game and that it would be finished on their world of all places. They also learned that the Courtesans from that special clutch included six Courtesans with unique enhancements. They were called Rogues and Kimble was included in that six.

The Game was played on Earth and concluded at an underground Complex that had been specially made by Charles Xavier in an Industrial Park in Arizona.

As the Game was played, the X-men met and learned about some of the other Rogues. All the Courtesans in the Game are specially marked with large tattoos that show their rank and standing. The six Rogues all have individual colors that none of the others share. One such Rogue, the Grey, was named Asher, a Courtesan dressed in the skin of centaur, a wise and careful councilor. He has many talents, one of which is the ability to look in the mind of one person and project their thoughts into the mind of another. He does not use this talent as a weapon, it's a tool Asher uses to help two confused parties better understand one another. Asher is compassionate, celibate, and a devout Christian.

His clutchmate Skye, the Yellow, is not so compassionate the X-men would learn. Skye's powers include the ability to repair damaged humans and even restore lost powers to a depowered mutant. That little favor comes with a price – Skye is a sexual sadist. He will restore you, but he will also try to enslave you to his will in exchange. This was proven out when he came across two such depowered mutants – Sabretooth and Wild Child. They were renamed Kristalay and Famayalin respectively – and Skye restored them, but enslaved them as well. He called them his lions and used them to play his small part in helping the X-men survive the Game. Skye is strong with two of the Lushna-esk talents – a powerful empathy called Kundatesh and Morrowhiem, the healing glitter. Morrowhiem is intoxicating and addictive to those who receive it often. Both Kristalay and Famayalin fell under his spell and obeyed his every command.

After the Game reached its cataclysmic conclusion and Jael was destroyed, Skye and his lions were taken into custody by the X-men and brought down to holding cells in the underground Complex. It is there that we find them and the Wolverine who watches over them.

I hope this little intro brings everyone back up to speed, I tried to keep it brief. It only just scratches the surface of what went on before this one shot takes place. There will be additional recap material as needed as we go along, I beg the forgiveness from those who have already read all my other stories. You guys can just skim over it here and there, LOL. For those of you who are new, I hope that this introduction and the story that follows is enough to make you consider reading the previous two series of books. Don't be afraid, I don't bite... :)

(One)

_**(This story takes place in between chapters 4 and 5 of **__**Flight**__**, part two of**__** Learning to Fly**__**. It has been only three days since the Game was played.)**_

Somewhere in the middle of the Arizona desert, lies a sparkling city called Costin. Just outside of that fair city there is a large Industrial Park that is home to several large businesses and manufacturing sites. It would look normal to anyone that might happen to fly over it, but one of the large glass buildings houses an even bigger secret – an underground Complex where the X-men now reside. The Complex was built in case of emergencies, thinking that proved valid when their former home, a mansion in Westchester, New York, was later demolished by the terrorist Jael.

A new home meant new jobs for everyone and at the moment the Head of Security for most of the Complex, a man named Logan, was busy having his morning coffee and a look at the paper. He sat at the large mahogany desk in his office, grumbling a bit over the morning news. Three days had passed since the Game had ended and the folks living here in the underground Arizona Complex were still trying to recover. As many as four thousand mutants had died in that mess, a good number of them fellow X-men. Their bodies had been incinerated to hide the deed, but the dead would still be sorely missed.

Logan had been very busy helping with the cleanup and getting things back to normal. Being head of security here for a large portion of the Complex had kept him running around the place, checking badge stations, alarms, and door locks. This morning he had vowed to take it easy and had started with a cup of coffee and the paper.

It wasn't the best of ideas, the paper was full of bad news - another anti-mutant group had bombed a series of shelters in California, killing a number of mutant women and children. Dead babies on the front page was a sure fired way to start the day off in a bad mood - Logan's codename Wolverine, was well deserved. He wasn't known for his pleasant, happy banter.

Worse than all that was the big front page spread where SHIELD was now claiming full responsibility for the demise of Jael, the big bad anti-human terrorist that had caused all that ruckus outside. It wasn't so much that SHIELD wanted all the glory that was pissing Logan off, it was the glib way in which they had done it. It had been understood that the X-men's involvement was not to be mentioned, but geez, the least they could have done was give some credit to "outside agencies." Logan knew full well that it was a combination of the X-men and another mutant group called the Outkasts that had actually brought Jael down, not those arrogant SHIELD bureaucrats. Those uniformed jokes were lucky if they could find their bootstraps on a good day.

Well, enough of that, Logan was thinking. He had plenty to do today besides worry about what SHIELD was thinking or doing. He had people in his holding cells to look after. He should do the rounds and get them over with.

There were two sets of holding cells in his jurisdiction. The first was a minimum security wing put in place to contain the drunk or rowdy for a day or so and not meant for anything serious. It was there that the big black Siskan, Simone, was being held. Simone was violent and angry, attacking anyone who tried to speak with him. He had been moved to the far end of the holding area where he could be better isolated. Simone had liked that just fine and had settled down into a quiet solitude, enjoying his benign neglect.

The second area of holding cells was an official detention area and already in use in spite of this underground facility being relatively new. These cells were medium to higher security and had various locking mechanisms depending on the strength and capabilities of the prisoner contained within. There were three prisoners being held there currently - Kristalay, Famayalin, and their Siskan Master, Skye.

Kristalay had made it plain he was done with Skye, though he still insisted on being called Kristalay. That name had actually been given to him by Kimble who had lived with him for a time. The name had stuck and Kristalay would be Sabretooth no more. He was being quiet for now, contenting himself with exercise and waiting to see what the decision would be regarding his status here.

Skye had proven to be a handful. His second day here in custody, he had tried to wield his empathic power against Logan, using the glittering Morrowhiem dust in an attempt to sway Logan's mind. Logan hadn't taken it well and had dragged Skye without an ounce of dignity down to the far end where the maximum security cells were and tossed him in the nearest one. Those cells had energy screens for doors and the Morrowhiem couldn't pass through. Skye could glitter himself to death in there for all Logan cared.

Now, making his rounds this morning, Logan walked past the cell where Kristalay presently lay sleeping and looked in on his third charge, Famayalin, the creature formerly known as Wild Child. The boy had been a real pain in the ass from the moment he had been brought down here. Unlike Kristalay, he hadn't taken the separation from his Master well and spent most of his time digging away at one of the front corners of his cell as though he might actually be able to claw his way out.

Logan had met and clashed with Wild Child many times in the past, both in the Weapon X program and later. The boy before him now looked very differently than he had then. He had previously been just another feral mutant with claws on both his hands and feet and had a bit of fang. A moderate healing factor had completed the set. Jael had since depowered and dumped the boy's body on the streets where Skye had later found him. Skye's power healed the damaged, but it did that and more. Wild Child's legs had become bent and crooked like the beast he was and his claws and fangs were restored but at greater length than before. His face was different, having a small but pronounced snout, all the better to house those elongated fangs. The name change to Famayalin was apt, it meant Little Lion in Siskan.

Famayalin wasn't taking his current incarceration well. He dug and dug, scrabbled and scrabbled. He shattered claw after claw but yet kept digging away at the hard cement floor, his newly enhanced healing factor keeping him going. There was an ugly splash of red there, blood from the poor boy's ravaged hands. He would dig and dig, only to fall down hours later in exhaustion. A rough, unrestful nap later and he was back at it again.

At the moment the boy was tapped out and laying in a dejected heap, curled up small in the corner of his cell, a familiar sight to Wolverine. How many times had he seen this image? Wolverine had known the boy for years, Wild Child had been incarcerated several times during Logan's stint in Weapon X as the directors feebly tried to rehabilitate the monster they themselves had created. None of their attempts had been successful and Wolverine couldn't hide his ire that now this pathetic reject was once more in his sights.

As if sensing Logan's less than benevolent thoughts, Famayalin opened his bloodshot eyes and looked up at him with nothing but pure malice. He hissed as he moved his poor exhausted body into a more defensive posture. "Mrr! Go 'way!"

Wolverine slouched up against the door, not giving an inch. This cell hadn't been outfitted with bars, it was a medium security cell with a door of solid clear plastic laced with energy filaments. It couldn't be scratched, broken or smashed, a Dr. Lector knockoff. It had small silver dollar sized holes for a bit of ventilation, but the openings weren't large enough for a hand to pass through. It just wasn't safe to leave this freak where he could reach out and grab someone passing by. Logan sniffed at him, made a face. "You be a good boy, now. Maybe I'll let ya out in a bit for a wash. You sure could use it."

It was true, the boy was filthy, covered with dried blood and old foamy spit. His snout was fringed with the beginnings of a scraggly, disheveled beard. Famayalin could have cared less what he looked like, he was only filled with hate. "Mrr! Fuck you!"

"Now that ain't too nice. I'll never understand you, kid. From day one you've been nuthin' but a royal pain in the ass. Why is that?"

Famayalin continued to growl, showing his long bloodied fangs. He wasn't sure if the question was serious or not, but never had this man been nice to him, not once.

Logan's memory had been shattered and was for the most part now restored, but Famayalin's had remained intact and the weight of those long years was heavy on him indeed. In spite of his youthful looks, he was close to forty now, a mere pup to Logan's one hundred plus. All that time had brought him nothing but misery and pain but none more so that those long dark years in the Weapon X program. He had met both Wolverine and Sabretooth there, instructors with eyes of cold steel and hands of brutal, unrelenting abuse.

Wild Child had struggled his way through the Program and was never once given any reprieve for his many efforts. The life there had been harsh and brutal. Wolverine had never beaten him up for kicks like Sabretooth had, but there was no kindness there. Not once had Logan stepped in to intervene on his behalf and a few times had even laughed as Creed smashed him into a wall, chuckling as Wild Child had returned for more, unwilling to let Sabretooth have the last word.

Famayalin looked on Wolverine now, his cougar eyes red with hatred. "Mrr! Hate you! Hate you all! Hurt you all!"

"Now what did we ever do to you, ya freak!"

Famayalin roared his fury and launched himself at the glass, forcing Logan to take a step back in surprise. He popped the claws on one hand reflexively with a loud metallic snickt! sound. Logan's mutation was similar to Famayalin's - enhanced senses but also that same healing factor. The healing factor had brought him only trouble, the folks running the Weapon X program had exploited that mutation and coated all of Logan's bones with Adamantium, an indestructible metal. Only a mutant that could survive any injury could have withstood such a torturous procedure and he had. The bones of his entire body had been coated, including six bone claws he had been gifted with as an additional mutation, three in each arm. Logan could extend and retract these claw knives at will through his hands - built in daggers that could cut through nearly anything.

Logan had popped those claws now in response to Famayalin's charge at the glass but there was no real need to use them. This was a special glass made to contain powerful mutants such as this one and it was holding up well. Famayalin hit the barrier and slashed at it futilely, unable to even scratch it.

Logan stood there, watching the boy freak out while being unable to fathom where all this rage had come from. Everyone in Weapon X had tried to work with the kid, doing their best to cater to his special needs but all Wild Child had done was take advantage of them and go out on killing and raping sprees, unwilling to repay the kindnesses given to him by trying to curb his own violent tendencies. Sure Sabretooth had smacked him around some, but it was that no one liked the kid really. Who would? The boy was incorrigible, a total waste of time. Sabretooth had only been expressing what everyone else had been thinking.

"Gots a real angry boy there, ayup," came a familiar voice from behind Logan where he stood.

Wolverine turned to see Asher standing near the watch desk, his ever present Mumbler, Smee, in his hands. Smee was small and purple, looking like a ferret that had fallen in a bucket of violet dye. He was an Angel and therefore more than he seemed. He could talk and often did so, his little comments more annoying than anything else to Logan. Asher had asked for and was granted limited access to the detention area. He was here now, coming in to try and work with Skye. Famayalin's noise had blocked the sound of his arrival.

Logan squinted at him, unhappy with the interruption to his rounds. "What ya want here, Ash?"

"Came to looks in on my brother," the centaur replied in his low lazy drawl, coming closer. All the Siskans here were clutch mates and had a habit of calling themselves brothers and sisters, something a bit jarring since Logan knew of two of them who were currently engaged to be married to one another. They were all freaks as far as Logan was concerned, he hadn't yet met one he could fully trust and now there were six living here.

The main trouble Logan had with the Siskans was their overtly sexual natures. They had been created for pleasure and now that they had found themselves in mainstream society, had difficulty with restraint in that department. Their moral values were skewed and it wasn't beyond them to make inappropriate passes at people or even commit what many here would consider to be sexual crimes. Kimble was currently on the sexual offenders list for one such mistake and Logan knew he wouldn't be the only one there. It was only a matter of delayed record keeping that had so far kept Skye from joining that list.

The bundle of feral rage in the holding cell stopped his tirade and took a step back, taking in the strange sight before him. Asher was peculiar to anyone at first glance – he had been given the skin of a centaur and was a youthful boy on hooves, a bit jarring to anyone even in this world filled with mutants. His human parts were those of a pre-adolescent boy of fourteen or so, his hair wispy and silver. His pony's body was a grey and brown brindle mix and the fur soft as satin. His tail was long and brown, his hooves polished and clean. Unlike the other Siskans here, Asher was celibate though it hadn't been by choice at first – his pony's body was genderless in spite of his male upper half. He couldn't engage in physical sexual play like his clutch mates even if he had wanted to. An angry former Master had punished Asher so for a sexual mistake and he had been paying the price for it ever since.

Regardless of his limitations, you wouldn't know Asher wasn't organically alive to look at him, he was alert, vibrant and had an engaging personality. He was fully sentient as were the rest of the Siskans, bright and aware. He wore only a brown leather bag that he most often carried Smee in but also the tools of his trade – a Bible, smokes and chocolate, those things most likely to calm an unruly Siskan. He was hoping to get Skye to talk to him.

At the moment now, Asher had Famayalin's undivided attention. The boy's hair was wild now from his outburst and slivers of drool hung from his chin, but his condition didn't deter the Siskan one bit. Asher gave Famayalin a warm welcoming smile and said, "Why hullo there, little fella. What y'all gots to be so angry 'bout, huh?"

"Mrr! Locked up!"

"Well, we's all locked up one way 'r another, I guess. What matters is how ya deals with it," Asher replied, his voice low and easy. All the Rogues in the Game had this same almost southern drawl, an accent that set them all apart and made them easy to recognize. Unfortunately, if you had more than one in the same room, it made Logan wonder when the fiddles, fried chicken, and cotton picking was set to begin. It could get on one's nerves if you let it.

Asher placed a hand on the glass, ignoring a hiss of warning from Logan that followed. Asher's fingers had partially slipped through one of the air holes where they could be clawed at or bitten, a safety hazard. Asher could have cared less, he was looking down at Famayalin now, his only intent to calm the poor boy into some semblance of mind. "Shush, now. Easy, kitten. What's there ta be all fussin' about? Ya gots a nice warm bed there, some good clean food ta eats. I knows ya ain't always had it that way, I kin sees it in yer eyes."

Famayalin backed down, returning to all fours and wiping his chin. "Mrr. Hates me. All of you," he replied, the human words hard to get out of his poor feral mouth.

"Well, I don' hates ya. Not one little bit. How could I? We only just met."

"Always happens," Famayalin muttered, looking away in disgust.

"What're you talkin' about?" Wolverine grumped. "All everybody's done to you is try to help you out and all you ever did was throw it back in their faces."

Famayalin rose back up again, his rage returning once more. "Mrr! Grwollrr! What help? 'Tooth smash! Wolv'rine laugh! Think so funny, eh? Fuck you! Mrr! Hurt you! Hate you! Kill you!"

"Angry angry, shoutsy, he is," Smee mumbled in agitation, moving from Asher's hands to his shoulders, seeking higher ground. He had no fear for his own safety, his large Master would protect him, but Famayalin in his rage was a sight to be seen. "Hatesy angry!"

Logan didn't hear the Mumbler's chatter, he was too busy snarling his response back to the prisoner. "Hey! 'Saby done what he did 'cause all you did was fuck up!"

"Whoa-ho there fellas!" Asher said, moving in between them and releasing some calming Kundatesh. "Y'all just settle down now. There ain't no needs ta be all riled up an' yellin'."

Wolverine flinched in anger as he felt Asher's empathic power come at him as the Siskan tried to assist him in backing off. He moved away from the centaur as though the boy was poison and showed his teeth in his anger, wanting none of it. Unlike the healing Morrowhiem glitter, the Kundatesh couldn't be seen, but Logan had been around too many empaths and telepaths not to know it was there. He would never be receptive to manipulation, all it did was piss him off even further. The only thing that kept Asher from being in a cell himself was that unlike so many of his Siskan kin, he had never once been violent or sexually inappropriate.

Asher sensed his mistake and immediately withdrew his power. He was quick to apologize. "Sorry, man. Didn't means no offense. Just tryin' ta gits y'all ta back off some."

"This is my jail, my rules, boy. You wanna keep coming here, you keep that sick shit away from me!" Logan growled deep and low, sounding an awful lot like the feral boy trapped in the cell.

Famayalin meanwhile had gone suddenly silent. He was momentarily startled, not realizing that the Kundatesh, an empathic power he had come to enjoy, could come from anyone other than his Master, Skye. He had never met Asher before today, but perhaps if his mind hadn't been so overwrought with suffering and anger, he might have noticed Asher's big Grey mark so similar to Skye's own bright Yellow. All the Siskans in the Game were marked with large tattoos that covered most of their upper chest - a winged, naked woman laying along the blade of sword, each one having a distinctive color that came with a Title. Asher's color was the Grey and the Title that came with it was Regulator, an apt one as he spent most of his time keeping his Siskan kin in line.

Famayalin knew none of this of course and at the moment would not have cared if he had. He moved back to the glass, but didn't attack it. Instead he placed his paws upon the barrier and whimpered to be fed. Logan might not want what Asher had to offer, but he most certainly did.

Asher turned to him, seeing his need. He put a hand over Famayalin's, sympathetic but firm in his resolve. "Yer hungry, huh? I kin sees Skye didn't waste no time in fuckin' ya up all inside. See him an' me, our power's kinda the same. We kin heals, but his... his binds ya to him, makin' you a slave," he explained, his voice gentle.

Wolverine backed off a bit, not sure if Asher was talking to him as well, trying to make him understand. The evenness of Asher's voice was almost hypnotic, making his anger dissipate quickly. He could see now why Remy spoke so highly of him. It wasn't that Asher was trying to manipulate anyone, it was just that he was so damn reasonable and friendly. Passive and non-threatening.

"I won't gives ya my Kundatesh nor m' Morrowhiem neither, sorry. I knows yer hungry fer it, but it wouldn't helps you, only makes yer hunger worse," Asher continued, his grey eyes showering benevolence on the young man trapped on the other side of the barrier. "I knows they ain't gonna lets me in there right now, so I'll just tell ya what. Keeps it quiet in there, don't makes no fuss. When Logan here sez y'all kin comes out, I'll comes find ya. Maybe I kin helps ya, maybe not, but I'd be more 'n happy ta try."

"Mrr! Master!" Famayalin wailed, sobbing now. He would gladly substitute the centaur for Skye, if only he would feed him the glorious Morrowhiem.

"I ain't the Master of nobody, an' I never wants ta be," Asher replied. "But I'd be yer friend, Kyle."

Famayalin put his head down, slumping back to the floor, rejected and downcast. "Kyle gone. No more."

"Naw, he's just a little lost is all. You been further off the path than ya are now, Kyle. Skye brung ya back some, showed that there's more in there than a monster fulla hurtin' an' killin'."

Wolverine shook his head. How could Asher know anything like that? Besides that, how did he even know Kyle's real name? Wild Child had come to Weapon X under the name of Kyle Gibney, something that was not well known. No one had said anything about Asher being telepathic or anything, just insightful. He seemed to possess information beyond what he should have. Logan didn't understand.

Asher continued to console the lost young man. "Ya gots a strong heart, I kin sees it beatin' in ya, see yer nice bright shine. Yer capable of so much good, an' so much bad. While yer waitin' ta come out, when yer mind is a little more quiet, just ask yerself — Did I gits more from bein' bad an' mean an' hurtful than I gots when I wuz good? Did it makes me feel any better?"

Famayalin stopped crying and looked up at Asher, a bead of understanding forming there behind the wildness. "Master love me! Love 'May'lin quiet!"

"Yeah, Skye done that in his way," Asher replied, unable to hide an undertone of dislike for his wayward brother. "He beat ya, didn't he though? 'Til you wuz calm."

"Quiet 'May'lin! Mrr! Grrr! Quiet 'May'lin gets love!"

"That's right. A quiet Famayalin gits his love," Asher repeated with a gentle smile. "That's how it works here, too. All yer anger an' fightin', what did theys ever git ya 'cept kicked in the head? Lookit here now? Logan's all riled up, yer room here is all a mess. What didja gits from that, huh? Did it makes yer anger an' yer hunger go away?"

"No," Famayalin answered quietly.

"All right then. Think now some on what happened here t'day. What do they say, huh? Ya gits more with honey than ya does with vinegar. It all ain't made up shit, now ain't it?"

The boy looked up at Asher, a strange glow in his eyes. "You May'lin friend. No smash, jus'... jus' talks nice."

"That's right, Kyle. Asher's yer friend, always is. He's evrabody's friend cuz he ain't gots no hate now. Seen it never done him no good, not ever. Gots a heart full of peace an' love. I'd loves ta share it with ya, kitten. You just be good some an' they'll lets ya out. Then you an' me kin talks some more."

"Skye Master. Take 'May'lin home."

Asher just shrugged, knowing that wasn't likely to happen. He could, however, offer an alternative to that. "Maybe Skye's yer Master. Maybe Kyle could be instead. Looks ta me likes ya gots a chance ta find out. If ya needs a friend, I'm around. I always gots time."

Wolverine backed all the way up now, leaning against the back wall with his head down. His own question had been answered with Asher's few simple words. Although the people at Weapon X had tried to help Kyle, no one had ever reached out to him and tried to be his friend. Certainly not himself. And no one had offered him the personal freedom of owning himself. Always Kyle and the others had been property, Weapon X property. None of them had been free to just walk away. Logan felt an unexpected surge of pity and shame. He should have tried to reach out, but he had always been too busy with his own problems or simply let Kyle's fuckups simply get in the way.

He looked up and met Asher's soft grey eyes, not surprised to see a look of understanding there. Understanding, but no sympathy. One thing he would quickly learn about with Asher was that the guy was quick to reach out with forgiveness to the lost, but there would always be some distance between him and those who didn't act with the same heart. No harsh words would ever leave his lips, but there was a measure of contempt there, for Wolverine's inability to see the obvious — _Hey, you fucked up and I just showed you how in less than five minutes, loser. Man, you are all so incredibly blind._

Asher turned back to Famayalin. "Good morrow now, Kyle. I gots ta go on now and sees m' brother down the hall. Maybe if Logan here has a mind ta be generous, he'll let me come back an' talks with ya some later on. You gots ta be good now if ya wants that ta happen, eh?"

"May'lin quiet! Mrr! Quiet! Ash come, May'lin friend!"

Asher smiled, showing his bright white teeth. "Asher is yer friend, yes. Bye for the now, 'kay?"

"G'bye!" Famayalin said, his mouth stretched in a happy, loopy grin. So odd that being there, as if the boy had never smiled before.

Asher patted the glass and withdrew, giving Logan a curt nod as he passed by and headed deeper into the detention cells. He turned away and clopped off, his glossy hooves making soft noises on the hard floor. He never looked back.

Wolverine watched him go, his head full of doubts. Yeah, Asher might be able to calm Famayalin for a minute or two, but the guy was suggesting the kid might be worthy of some rehabilitation, something Logan rather doubted was possible. Only time would prove which of them was right.

**(break)**

Asher had hoped to see Famayalin again and it did indeed happen, just far sooner than Wolverine had expected.

The following afternoon, Logan walked into the detention room, pushing a cart with trays of food for his three charges. The others had taken food readily enough even though they were caged, but not Famayalin. The boy had been here for four days now and he hadn't eaten a thing, nor had he had any meaningful sleep. He had spent most of that time either curled up in the corner or pacing restlessly on all fours, grunting and growling to himself. He kept his word to Asher and was quiet, he didn't attack the glass anymore or anyone who came to bring him food or talk. It was nice and quiet here, just the way Logan liked it.

Max was at the watch desk today, keeping an eye on things. Max was a young man in his early twenties, a man who could easily have been Warren Worthington's much younger brother. Both were blonde and winged, but Max had the advantage of being telekinetic as well. He could make protective shields of hardened air and carry heavy loads while in flight. He had grown up well under Logan's tutelage and was one of his best Security officers.

Wolverine stopped, startled, when he saw that Max was not alone, his own wife was there at the watch desk as well. Karen Logan was a beautiful woman, a gleaming redhead with a winning smile. Unlike her husband she was a normal human and had no mutant abilities at all. She was a strong woman just the same, the wife of this man Wolverine would have to be, and she was unafraid in his presence. Karen was the house shrink and as such, she had been coming here to try and talk to Famayalin and Skye, but hadn't been having much success with either one.

Seeing her here now surely meant trouble. She and Logan had already had a vicious fight over Skye – the sick fuck had tried to freak her out by masturbating at her, going so far as to fling his cum at her (at least the energy screen had blocked that...), and Logan had found out about it. Skye might not be organically alive, but his makers had seen fit to make him appear as realistic as possible, even when it came to bodily fluids. Just the idea of another man showing his Johnson at his wife was enough to send Logan into a fury, never mind a man who had gone so far as to complete a sexual act in her presence. He had forbidden her to return and she had gone over his head, gaining permission from the Professor to continue their sessions. Wolverine hadn't been happy and they had been a bit cool since the incident. Her being here now wasn't going to help that any, he knew.

Karen saw his expression of bewildered irritation and said with maddening calm, "Don't be angry."

He stiffened and once more fell into a defensive slouch. He recognized by her tone that she had gone and done something behind his back - again. She usually did things like that for a good reason, but it always managed to irritate him. He disliked being worked around. He replied with saccharine sweetness, "Is there somethin' I should be angry about, darlin'?"

"Asher asked me to bring him down. He said he might be able to help with Kyle."

"And did he?" Wolverine asked, his voice calm, but his eyes were sharp with anger. Karen and he, in their various jobs, had almost equal power now when it came to the incarcerated. She could not free anyone, but the Professor trusted her enough to allow her to help the prisoners in any way she saw fit, including bringing them visitors. Wolverine respected her abilities, but he was unhappy that he hadn't been consulted about Asher's level of access to Famayalin. Asher was supposed to be here for Skye and no one else. It was just irritating that yet again, a Siskan was poking his head in where it wasn't wanted. It seemed like more than ever they were out here trying to run the show.

"Actually, yes. He got Kyle to lay down and sleep. He's been out for about an hour."

Logan growled softly in irritation and scorn. Kyle. Kyle. Kyle. Like if they said Famayalin's proper name enough, they could somehow bring the boy around. The poor fools, they had no idea who they were dealing with. The Wild Child he knew had been a sick freak from the day they had met, not the sort of thing that could change overnight.

Logan left the food cart at the watch desk and walked down, wanting to see what was going on for himself. He stopped outside the cell, unhappy all over again that the protective glass door was now open. That was a clear violation of the rules and would have to be dealt with. Asher was strong and powerful in his way, but if Famayalin had a mind to rip and tear his way out, Wolverine doubted Asher or Karen could stop him.

At the moment, things were quiet, no escape was in progress. Asher was laying down on the floor, his pony legs folded under him with his side against the far wall, his Mumbler perched on one shoulder as always. Famayalin was held in his arms, wrapped in a blanket, lying there for all the world like a lost and found orphan. His eyes were closed and he was deeply asleep, his face relaxed and calm for the first time since being brought down here. It made him seem less ugly, less of a monster to be feared.

"You had no right to come in here," Wolverine growled, displeased with the Siskan's presence. "This kid is locked up fer a reason. He's dangerous. Get out!"

Asher looked up at him, his eyes holding no fear, just that same passive calm. "I asked Karen and she said it wuz all right. I tol' her I could makes him sleeps. He's real tired."

"I coulda got the doc to give him something."

Asher chuckled softly. "But you didn't. Besides, my way's better."

"Fuck you. Get out!"

Asher regarded him once more and yet did not move an inch, his eyes less serious now. "Didja know that Kyle wuz born a normal human?"

"What?" Logan asked, startled more by the change in tack than the question itself. He had suspected some things about Wild Child's past, this being one of them.

"Didja knows he ain't really a mutant like the rest of yous?"

"How did ya know that?" Logan countered, his eyes full of suspicion.

"He told me," Asher replied simply.

"He can barely speak. How'd he tell you anything?"

"He's easy ta unnerstand — if ya knows how to listen."

"You shouldn't be in here. He's a killer. Get out!" Wolverine ordered, not wanting to have this conversation. He was distrustful of this Siskan, his power was of the kind that set him on edge. He especially disliked Asher's calm yet slightly condescending tone, like Wolverine knew nothing. Again, this Siskan had no idea who he was dealing with.

The Mumbler startled awake at Logan's raised voice, but Asher didn't budge. "Yeah, he's a killer all right. A product of an environment where he's always been someone's possession. A pawn. A plaything fer madmen. Kinda reminds me of a few Siskans I knows," he finished with an ironic laugh.

"He ain't like you," Logan replied. "He's flesh an' blood."

"But still made," Asher countered quickly, desperate to get his point across. "What's been made kin be unmade if ya haves a mind ta try. So much easier when the product is willin'. When the ultimate prize is his alone — a return from damnation. His vera soul."

"Soulsy he is, yes. Soulsy," the Mumbler chatted, adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. "Wakesy, too."

Wolverine snorted at Asher's preachy words, ignoring the Mumbler completely. What a fool this Siskan was, thinking he could waltz in here and just cure everybody he touched as if he was Jesus himself. "It can't be done, so just give it up. Good folks have tried and got nowhere with this kid. He only gives a shit about himself."

"And those who tried to help him, did they fergives him?"

Logan blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Did they ever fergives him fer what he done?" Asher asked, his grey eyes almost merry as he pinned Logan down with such a simple question.

Wolverine had no answer and crossed his arms in irritation.

Asher returned Wolverine's arrogant snort, victorious. "I thought not. You humans, yer hearts'r so hard, like little blocks of ice. You an' the Dognan both."

"Hey! We ain't like them!" Logan complained, not wanting to be compared to those barbaric slave masters. The Dognan were a cruel race, traveling from world to world, stealing the inhabitants and turning them into slaves. The Game had been created for their own perverse enjoyment with no regard as to how the poor sentient Siskan Courtesans might feel about it. The whole thing didn't sit well with Wolverine and it still rankled.

Asher wasn't fazed by the outburst. "Oh yes ya are. Ya come, ya conquer, ya thirst fer more. Gots ta be in charge, the ones on top. This place here is a prime example. Ya sez this is a place of freedom, butcha all gots badges. Ain't gots the right badge, hey, ya ain't gots as much rights as the next guy. Not all the mutants here is equals."

"That was done fer Security," Logan argued defensively. "We've been infiltrated already. There was a frikken war fought up on the damn runway, fer Pete's sake! People here have been hurt, killed. You gotta earn yer trust here, buddy, it ain't that anyone doesn't have any rights."

"An' when does Kyle git his chance to earn his rights? I cain't see no fergiveness in the stone that is yer heart. I wonders, have ya ever fergiven anaone in yer life?"

"Don't be an ass. Of course I have!"

"Then why not this one?"

" 'Cause he's never tried to be good. Not once has he ever put out an effort ta get along."

Once more that arrogant snort. "Are ya shure?"

"Positive."

"Then come over here."

Logan squinted with suspicion. "Why?"

"C'mon now, I ain't gonna bitecha. Come on. Please."

Wolverine came grudgingly, not wanting Asher to think he was afraid when he wasn't. He entered the cell, smelling at once Famayalin's condition. On top of not having slept, the boy still hadn't showered and he stank. There was a sharp tang of distress in the air, but not on the kid himself. Not anymore. He was calm, waking from a restful sleep now that their voices had disturbed him. He lay still, groggy and tired, not yet ready to open his eyes.

"Come sit down here," Asher invited after politely giving Logan a minute to take in the room.

Wolverine obeyed, taking a position where he could meet Asher's eyes at the same level of his own. One thing Logan used to assess a person was their eyes. He believed himself good enough to judge a liar just by looking him in the face and reading his body language. As much as he tried to dislike this Siskan, all he could ever find was a simple kind of honesty in those pale grey eyes of Asher's. There was no anger here, no hostility, only a tranquil peace. It brought out Logan's natural inclination to trust one such as this. He would go along...for now.

"Gives me yer hand," Asher requested once Logan was seated.

"I don't think so, bub."

"Bubsy he is, yes," from Smee, chatty as ever. "Bubsy and angry he is, always."

Asher stroked his pet and laughed softly at Wolverine's suspicion and distrust. "Whatcha'll afraid of, huh? 'Fraid I might catch ya in a lie?"

Logan growled in irritation at the challenge and held out his hand, not wanting to give Asher the satisfaction of his fear. He had an idea that this Siskan freak was about to use his power and he was right, just not in the way he expected. Asher took his hand, surprising Logan by his warmth and gentleness. It was hard to remember that technically Asher was a hologram, a machine and not really alive when his skin felt so real. He lay Logan's hand on Famayalin's cheek. "Don't be scared."

Famayalin whimpered softly and finally woke completely, his eyes widening when he saw who his visitor was.

Wolverine gasped in shock and surprise when he was bombarded with vibrations, Asher's contact was making him a conduit for messages the Kundatesh could hear.** _/ Aw fuck, here he is again, the fuckin' asshole,_ **Famayalin was thinking. Fear turned to a deep emptiness, a well of despair and pain. **_Good. I hope he rips my fuckin' heart out like he's always wanted to. God, I'm so tired. So fucking tired of everything. I just want to die. Just do it, fucker. C'mon, I know you want to. Just do it and tell everyone what a great big fuckin' hero you are for doin' it./_**

"Didja feels that?" Asher asked Logan softly, his other hand stroking Famayalin's poor rumpled hair back. "Is it what ya expected?"

"Pretty much, yeah. He's a quitter. I told you he never tried at nuthin' his whole life."

Famayalin's despair and anger surged. Logan could feel it now, assisted by Asher's power. /_ **Fuck you, asshole! You only see what you want to see. Whatever it takes to make it easier for you sleep at night. Whatever it takes for that pathetic ruin you call a conscience to be satisfied. Well, fuck you. I don't owe you anything, motherfucker. Eat shit and die, you and your so called perfect X-men. /**_

Asher smiled at Logan slightly, knowing that the message had been passed. "Are ya so shure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Wolverine replied, not about to let Famayalin's resentment sway him. He had been there at Weapon X, he had seen what a fuckup this kid was.

"Wanna make a bet on it?"

Logan looked into Asher's grey eyes. "What ya have in mind?"

"Nuthin' much. Nuthin' a great big man likes you cain't handle. If yer right, the kid stays locked up. But if yer wrong — ya hafta apologize fer it."

Wolverine bristled. He had never been good at apologies - he was much too arrogant - and clearly this Siskan knew it. Still, he wasn't about to give Asher the upper hand. He wouldn't show his weakness, his pride. "All right. Anything to keep this freak caged."

"All right then, close yer eyes."


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: Howdy! I'd just like to thank dogo and lizjennings for reviewing chapter one. It's always great to hear from you guys. :)

(Two)

Logan closed his eyes and gasped for a second time as his mind was flooded with images. He tried to open his eyes to get away from them, but he was now paralyzed, locked in place by whatever Asher was doing. The Siskan was acting as a mediator, directing Famayalin's memories and feelings through his touch so Logan could experience the nightmare that had been Kyle Gibney's life.

Wolverine first saw Kyle as a young boy. He was down on his knees on the hard kitchen floor of his home, his father towering over him in a terrible rage. Kyle had never been a very co-ordinated kid and at just six years of age, he often stumbled into things. He had a hard time orienting himself in space, he couldn't correctly judge the distances between objects in a room. He'd move around and then furniture and walls would just suddenly be in his way. He tried very hard not to anger his father, not to break things, but it just kept happening.

Logan squinted as he was bombarded by the memory. He was amazed at how dull the boy's senses were. This dullness went beyond the fact that Kyle was not a mutant - Logan had had his own senses blunted temporarily before and this went well beyond that. Even for a normal human boy, tiny Kyle was dim-witted in his ability to move. He had no spacial awareness and the way he processed sound and colors was off. Logan now realized that Kyle was slightly retarded or disabled in some way and it affected his sensual perceptions. The thought of it chilled Logan because he knew now that Asher would win. Never had this fact been brought to light and it would affect everything that happened in this kid's life. Logan was feeling a strange sensation — guilt — when the show before him continued.

"You stupid little boy!" Kyle's father was yelling. The man paced, paced, paced. Thick leather rasped through calloused fingers.

"I'm sorry, daddy!" poor tiny Kyle sobbed. He was horrified and humiliated. He didn't understand just how things had gone so terribly wrong. He had taken the carton of milk out from the 'fridge for breakfast and then the table was just suddenly there. He had collided with it painfully and the carton had fallen to the floor, spilling out its contents in a big white pool.

"You know we ain't got enough money! Not for an ugly little mistake like you! I've told you and told you and still you don't listen!"

Logan couldn't help but shudder with renewed guilt. How many times had he shouted those very same words to this kid - "...an ugly mistake like you" - in the past? _Son of a bitch...!_

"I'm sorry, daddy! Please don't hurt me!"

"Well, it's too late for that, isn't it? Seems like a good beating is the only way to learn a retard like you!"

Kyle howled as the belt came down at him, whipping him across the back. His clothes were pitiful and thin. The shirt split open at the contact and then daddy was yelling at him again as if that had been his fault, too. Poor Kyle's heart swelled with pain and anger. It was an anger so ugly and deadly that it would dwell in him for a long time. Yes, this was Kyle's life for the next seven years. The constant beatings, his repetitive failures. His mother was gone, she had run off and left him behind, something his father reminded him of daily, turning it around so that it was always Kyle's fault for that, too. If he hadn't been so small and weak, so clumsy and stupid, she would still be here.

Kyle worked very hard, he did. He did his best to please his angry father. He stayed up late at night, reading his school books under the blankets with a flashlight. He worked very hard, but when it came to test time, the answers just seemed to drift away from him like nasty little traitors. He was a low D student and no amount of studying seemed to help. His co-ordination and spacial deficiencies were horrible and didn't improve with age or beatings. He tried out for sports at his father's behest but his failures only enraged his father even more. Their home life disintegrated until they hardly spoke except to fight and brawl. The rage built and built, building up and finally exploding when his father came at him one last time.

Kyle had made some new friends that year. It hadn't taken long for a young impressionable fourteen year old with no life to be ensnared by the local drug dealers. Here he finally found some sense of family. They used him for small runs and collections, a nice little stupid errand boy that no one would miss if he had gotten caught. At least they spoke to him and spent time with him, in their way. He was finally included in something that didn't require physical strength or co-ordination.

Earlier that day, one of his new friends had given him a gun for a job and Kyle had forgotten to return it. Kyle was a little dim, but he wasn't completely stupid. He realized early that a gun was a nice little equalizer. He didn't have to be an A student to figure out how that puppy worked, oh yeah. When his father came for him again, that same equalizer ended their pathetic relationship forever.

As he watched Kyle exact his revenge, Wolverine was filled with the lustful rush of the boy's first kill. It came with a strong sense of satisfaction that Logan had felt himself many times before. The murder of a monster had always made him feel this way - he had beaten or killed more than his share of child molesters and wife beaters in his various travels. There was nothing better than busting the head of someone who'd so terribly wronged another. He howled with joy along with young Kyle, filled with the thrill of the kill.

Sadly, the rush didn't last long for either of them. Kyle pumped his father full of lead and split, hitting the streets for good. He tried to go to his drug dealing friends for help, but they distanced themselves from him, fearful of being implicated in the murder. Rejected and angry once more, Kyle fled the area, vowing never to return. With no money he didn't get far. He managed to avoid the authorities at least, disappearing into the slums of Vancouver nearby where he'd been born.

The slums swallowed him whole as they did all derelicts and he discovered a life not much better than the one he'd had with his father. He was filthy and ragged so begging got him very little. At least he wasn't alone, he observed other young street kids trying to get by and it wasn't long before he was introduced to a more lucrative way to survive. At the tender age of fifteen, he was in the alleyways with them, giving blow jobs for five bucks a pop, just enough for him to eat and maybe rent a room for few hours of warm sleep. The ways of the streets came without books and tests, it was pass/fail, and in this regard Kyle had learned fast enough when it counted.

Logan twisted and squirmed as he was blasted with Kyle's ugly memories. Here were dirty, filthy johns, groping at him in the dark with their rotten, disgusting hands. "Suck me," they would whisper. "Such a sweet young boy, so very good. Yes..."

Back in the cell, Logan grunted and snarled in revulsion and outrage, reflexively popping the claws on one hand.

"Sharpsy!" Smee cried out fearfully and jumped away to Asher's back. "Sharpsy, angry, hatesy!"

"Easy there, James," Asher's voice came at Logan soothingly, calling him by his secret name. The one he had been born with and so few people even knew. "Put thems away."

Logan sheathed his claws and snarled softly. "What is this? Just a bunch of lies! Yer makin' all of this up!" He was shaking and trembling, unsure his words were even true. He just wanted this to end. This was too horrible.

"Still shure alla this is a lie? Well, look in on this."

Wolverine grunted once again in frustration as he was blasted with more of Kyle's memories. He saw a man in a dark black suit, waving a large wad of money in his face. Poor Kyle hadn't eaten in three days. The weather was bad, it was winter now and the tricks just weren't coming. It had snowed and he was freezing, hurting all over from the cold. This one had pulled up in a dark black Suburban and walked up to him in the alley demanding, "I want to fuck you, boy."

Kyle trembled with fear. "I ain't never..."

The money came at him again. "I'll give you all of it. Come on, boy. It won't hurt... much."

Kyle weighed his options. A meal and a room for the night. A shower. He had always been a clean boy, this nightmare existence was torture for him. He was thin and frail, not even a hundred pounds now. Another night out in the snow like this just might kill him. He chose survival and took the man's money. "Over here," he said, pointing to the alley.

The man saw survival in Kyle's eyes and found it good. He gestured to his car. "It'll be warmer in there."

Kyle nodded and entered the big black Suburban, a vehicle anyone in the know would recognize immediately as a carriage of the government. He slipped in and didn't have a moment to scream as he was grabbed from within and held down. His dim senses hadn't improved with age and in the darkness of the night, he hadn't realized there were others here. The inside light had been disabled, it didn't come on when the door had opened. He was pinned down and gagged. He struggled but was far too frail to offer much resistance. A needled pricked his arm and darkness came for him. Just before he was gone, heard a voice rasp, "Jesus, Frank! This one's half dead!"

"He was the only one who said yes! You think you're so smart? Next time you do it, Bob!"

Logan shuddered. Kyle didn't know those voices, but he did. Frank Langly and Robert Tungsten, two of Weapon X's recruiters, men not much better than the ones who had dragged him into the program as well.

Wolverine had been a member of the Program, and like his role in the X-men, there were times when he'd been expected to teach. These two scumbags had given him more than one pathetic scrap of flesh to try and mold into something useable. Like Kyle, some of those men had come unwillingly, but most had managed to get by. It was uncomfortable watching an abduction right up close, it was one thing to hear about it and quite another to watch it. Still, others had been kidnapped and survived, doing well in the program. Logan was often up to the task of bringing out the best in the worst of men, his brutal instructions bringing out inner strength they never knew they had, but Kyle had been a bust from the start. He was about to find out why.

Kyle woke first in a room Logan was all too familiar with. It was the Green Room, an experimental lab for Weapon X, the place where Logan had gotten his Adamantium. Just the sight of it made Wolverine's skin crawl.

Logan had spent a lot of time in the Weapon X program - first as a special operative, then as an instructor and finally as a human lab rat for an experiment gone badly awry. The Adamantium bonding process had driven Logan mad and he had shown his displeasure by carving his way out of here, causing colossal damage and a great many casualties. He had thought all this was behind him, forgotten, but a memory boost from Jael a few years back had restored all that and looking at it again was making Logan sick.

A calendar fluttered against a back wall of the Green Room, it was early December, 1969. Only a year or two before Logan had gone through here himself, before he had slashed through the whole building, a ballistic human Cuisanart.

Kyle was naked, washed down, and strapped to a examination table. He squirmed and wiggled as he became more awake and aware, but in his already weakened state of malnutrition and disorientation, didn't have the strength or the skill to break free. He startled at the sound of a door opening behind him and strained to watch as two men came in, doctors judging by their surgical scrubs and white coats. He began to feebly plead for his life, that there must be some kind of mistake, but they ignored him.

Wolverine was familiar with this, too. The way the men moved about, as if the object on the table was little more than a lab rat. It had been the same when they had finally had their way with him as well. They didn't meet Kyle's eyes or speak to him, they didn't regard him as a person. They couldn't, not in this kind of work. He was just a subject to them, merely some homeless kid that no one was going to miss if whatever they had planned didn't quite work out.

Through the connection Asher had provided between them, Logan could feel Kyle's vibrations of fear, they had echoed his own when he had gone through the Adamantium bonding process._**/ Hey! What are you doing? I'm a person! What right do have to do this to me?! God! God help me! I don't want to die!**_

No acknowledging words were replied as they next bent over Kyle, tying him down even further and fixing IVs into the now bulging veins in his arms. With no body fat supporting him, they were quite easy to find. Kyle watched in horror as a bright red liquid was next pumped into him. He saw the name Logan 55 on the container, but it meant nothing to him. All he knew was that it burned like fire and made him scream like the devil. A second container was used, Creed 67, and he was howling now, driven insane by the pain.

_They used our DNA and God knows what else to make him,_ Logan thought now to himself, feeling sick. Logan 55 was his, but Creed 67, that had come from Sabretooth no doubt. Sabretooth's given name was Victor Creed and as a member of Weapon X himself, his DNA would have been readily available to the scientists here. Logan had long suspected that some kind of programing had been used in Kyle's creation. He had even considered the idea that something as vile as this might have been done, but he never had the proof. It had been easier to just dismiss the rumor and treat Kyle as a mutant, one badly out of control.

Kyle was tormented over the next few days as the chemicals did their damage, altering him forever. His body was wracked with fever and he was tormented by overpowering odors and loud noises from all around. His sensory perception was going into overload - he could smell more, hear more, feel every little breeze that drifted over his sweat slick skin. It was more than he could stand and keep sane.

Worse than that was an endless stream of foul dreams. He was a wild animal running naked and free through the woods, hunting. Always hunting... and never finding. His mind was blown away by his newly heightened senses, an overloaded brain that hadn't been able to properly process the ones he had been born with from the start, never mind this staggering upgrade.

Sadly, though, even in his dreams, he couldn't run right. He was surging with energy but when he leapt, he landed all wrong and crashed into trees and tumbled to the ground. Filled with a lust he couldn't explain, he would rise and run again, leaping wildly once more, mindless of the pain he had caused himself. His hands and feet were burning, the claws that would become his new weapons forcing themselves from his body with great violence. His muscles became hard like ropes and he was surging with energy, a strength and vitality he had never known before. Back in the Green Room, Kyle's dreams were affecting his sleeping body as well. He could hardly sit still and thrashed about, straining the straps they had bound him with.

Finally, when the fever broke and he was feeling better, he was moved to a cage for observation. Now that the fever that had clouded his mind had lifted, his body surged with energy just as it had in his dreams and he flung himself about tirelessly, wanting only to hunt and kill. His dreams of hunting prey in the woods had become a murderous rage in the real world. He used his new claws to hack and slash at any who came near him, marveling when his new talons repaired themselves as if like magic if they were broken. When the doctors realized he was an uncontrollable beast gone mad, they sent him to the next level for further programming in the hopes he could be salvaged. The goal was to have a brain-dead, remorseless killer. A stealthy, point and shoot weapon, one not hampered by a conscience. He was beaten and broken down until he was able to accept commands and learned his new place in the world.

He was transferred and he did learn some manners and control, but it came slowly. First they beat him into submission and then kept him under a tight watch, hoping that strenuous workouts and repetition of the exercises would straighten him out. He obeyed as best he could and slowly, slowly, he began to resemble something usable in their eyes.

They trained him to fight in a military, organized, and human manner. They had to beat him over and over again to get him to perform to their expectations, not realizing that their test subject had come in with limitations from the start. He was forced to compensate for his lack of coordination by default, these taskmasters were ten times as monstrous as his father had been. As fast as they whipped him, his body would quickly heal from it - a gift from Logan and Sabretooth's DNA - prompting them to beat him some more. It wasn't long before he could make his way through obstacle courses with an increasing ease, his fear of the whip an untiring teacher.

He suffered through many bouts of testing in those early days as well – he was cut, shot, burned and bruised frequently so that his rates of healing could be monitored. It made Logan cringe a little, it was something he would have endured himself if he hadn't broken out of the facility on his own after the Adamantium bonding process. He had never given them a chance. The testing on Wild Child continued throughout his entire stay, his progress constantly monitored.

While his bodily functions did gradually improve, his madness grew, something that didn't really show up in their many graphs. He was a sentient dog, a beast that was fully aware of what was going on, and sadly, also cognizant that like before, all of his hard work was taken for granted and unappreciated. No one recognized just how far he had come. He could leap and spar with the best of them. His spacial awareness had improved and he had become more acrobatic, able to save himself from falls he never would have made before. He could sneak in and sniff out the enemy, using his new senses to his advantage. He was well trained and submissive, he obeyed every order, anything to avoid the pain. But deep inside of him, a red ugly bomb was forming, only looking for a place to go off. He didn't know how much longer he could withstand this way of life without killing them all, each and every one, and drinking their blood down like wine.

His masters were oblivious or uncaring. Finally satisfied with his current progress, Weapon X mockingly gave him a new name, Wild Child, and he was Kyle no more. They sent him off to the higher levels for more training. They wanted to see how he would perform in a group environment and gave him to their best drill instructor, the one who had performed best time and time and again.

Wild Child was thrust into a line of new recruits and saw the cold steel blue of Wolverine's eyes for the first time.

By now, Wolverine had been with Weapon X for years and had graduated from fieldwork to instructor when off-mission, training the next generation of spooks and killers.

As painful as it had been to see the old Weapon X facility, Logan found it even worse looking back at himself as he was then. The time he had spent with Xavier had really softened and tempered the weapon this underground agency had turned out, something that was shockingly clear now that he was looking back at his old self.

This was James Logan, raw and gruff even before the Adamantium bonding that had sent him feral and screaming into the woods. He had been alive for many years by then, hiding his mutation as best he could, moving from place to place before settling down here. He was beginning to suspect his secret might be out, but so far nothing had been done about it – that he knew about anyway. He had no idea that he was already being eyeballed for future experimentation and that for the moment, it was just a matter of time.

He had also learned cruelty early, having dared to love and seen that love torn apart in an act of revenge he hadn't deserved. He and Sabretooth had grown up side by side, half brothers who had loved the same woman, a fetching young redhead named Rose. When her affections turned Logan's way, Sabretooth raped and murdered her, making sure that if he couldn't have her, neither one would. The heartbreak was more than Logan could withstand and so he had never dared to love another since, burying his emotions in booze and rough living.

James Logan the drill sergeant was harsh and unforgiving. He had known only pain and hardship all his long life and it showed on his face and his mannerisms. He was a long time alcoholic by now and it wasn't even unknown for him to pop a pill or two here and there, just to make the dull aching pain of simply being alive go away.

Because he had refused to give his heart to another after the death of Rose, he had known very little love and thus had none to give, least of all to a bunch of slackers like the crews he had been given to train. He gave them the same treatment he himself had received –- shouting, intimidation, humiliation and pain. He drilled them and drilled them and when they failed, drilled them some more without an ounce of mercy.

Wolverine now looked at his old self, shuddering in momentary revulsion, thinking of his kids. He and Karen had been blessed with three children over the course of their stormy yet solid marriage, two beautiful girls and a son who had just passed one year of age. While he had been a stern yet fair father, Logan would never dream of treating his kids the way his old self was howling at these cadets now, especially at Wild Child who just never seemed to do anything right.

Back in the holding cell, Famayalin whimpered softly. It wasn't painful memories, it was from a bit of understanding he had just gained. This transfer was a two way street, he was gaining knowledge he had never known just as Logan was learning from Child had never even considered the reasons why Logan was so cruel to him, he had assumed it was just a part of the man's nature. Now he knew better. It didn't excuse what was done to him, though, his eyes said, only that he recognized that Logan had been treated just as cruelly as he had been himself.

The memories played on. Wild Child was lumped in with the rest of Logan's next batch of young recruits and did his best to follow Logan's orders, but this new instructor's level of skill was too high for Wild Child to master easily. He was too slow, not quick enough for Wolverine's liking. Logan was running him through drills few special operatives could master and Wild Child couldn't keep up. He struggled with the new physical challenges and the stress was causing him to fail, earning him a tirade of Logan's drill instructor foul language and disgust. No matter how hard Wild Child tried, he was yelled at. He was sinewy and strong, gifted with animal keen senses. No one believed that he couldn't handle the tasks he had been given, there was no excuse for it. No one understood that it was just too hard for him to take in all once. He was still that slightly retarded child, one shown no mercy in this harsh military world.

Back in the holding cell and feeling Wild Child's emotions now as the memories were replayed, Logan could feel the boy's anger and rage. He could see now through Wild Child's clouded mind how his new senses often betrayed him, making him do things incorrectly. He performed decently at hand to hand combat and knife-play in close quarters, but couldn't shoot a gun worth crap. The loud bang of gunshots drove him crazy and in rapid gunfire situations, he would go completely rabid from the noise, attacking others around him. They didn't dare let him near any explosives. This particular weakness made him the butt of many unpleasant jokes and ridicule among his peers in the program and from his instructors as well.

Logan could sense Wild Child's sanity wither away under the harsh treatment of his own mouth. There was never a day that passed that he wasn't screaming in the kids face and shoving him around. Logan had never once stopped to think what it might be like to be on the receiving end of one of his own tirades. It was very enlightening.

Worse than all that of course was the presence of Victor Creed who had come along to help Wolverine whip the new recruits into shape. Here was Sabretooth in all of his glory. A three hundred pound monster killer who found no more amusement in Kyle's fuckups than Logan did.

It was an odd thing, Logan couldn't help but think. At this time in their lives and in spite of their violent and turbulent past, he and Creed had had no idea just who they were to each other. They had been born half brothers, sharing the same father, but all of that had been erased for the both of them, their minds haphazardly stripped clean by Weapon X.

Even before the Adamantium bonding had happened, both Logan and Creed had been put through "psychological treatments" which really amounted to nothing more than periodic brain wipes designed to kill the normal human conscience so they would kill freely with no guilt or remorse. It was these treatments that robbed them both of most of their memories. During the time they had both worked for Weapon X, neither one of them had even had a clue they were actually related. What had remained was a fierce and ugly competitive spirit, each one trying to outdo the other. They were known to drink and brawl savagely with one another, their fights legendary.

While Wolverine was at least doing his best to instruct the recruits he was given, Sabretooth just looked at it as an opportunity to have a little fun. He smacked Wild Child around in punishment for his failures, an immortalized teenager less than half his weight, thrilled by the fact that few of the supervisors did anything to stop him. Logan certainly hadn't. Perhaps some small part of Logan had believed that the pack mentality would help to get Wild Child motivated.

Now, from his new perspective as outside observer, Logan could feel Wild Child's rage grow by the day, a waiting nuclear bomb. On top of his mild retardation, now here was full blown insanity. His inner beast had been set free by tainted DNA, forcing his body to become something it had never been designed to be. If Logan thought his own inner beast had been wild, Wild Child's was three times stronger. Each day was a struggle to maintain some kind of humanity and poor Wild Child was rapidly losing the battle. He didn't bathe, he ate his meat raw any chance he could get, he had to be forcibly dressed and groomed. He was degenerating rapidly under the strain. There was no support here for him, no friends. Those hands that reached out to him all demanded the same thing – _Be good and you'll be fed. Do as we say and you'll be allowed to live._ He was a possession, nothing more. Less than human, and less than Logan and Creed ever would be. They at least had a foothold on reality. They could follow orders at a snap without having to fumble through the too complicated instructions. They were normal. They were perfect.

He hated them!

Wild Child tried to run away. It took a few tries, but eventually he was able to use his newfound skills to sneak out, but once free, had nowhere to go really. The closest place was Jackson Hills, a small town about ten miles from the hidden Weapon X facility. He made it there and broke into nearby houses, slaughtering those within, hateful of their normal lives and happiness. He had seen their pretty lives through those large lovely windows and it enraged him. No one was yelling at them, no one made them do drills over and over again. These folks had fine food and good clothing. It was so unfair!

He slaughtered the first family he saw, killing the husband and children immediately but saving the wife for last. He raped her savagely and without finesse, clawing her to death afterwards and then drinking her blood fresh as it gushed from her neck, delicious and salty and hot. He climaxed hard twice - the first time from feeling the hot sheath of her body around his own, something he had never felt before. Jerking off had nothing on this, on hearing her heartbeat and feeling the heat from her body radiate against his skin. It had never occurred to Wild Child to ask for the woman's favors - as if she would have given it freely! - he simply saw what he wanted and took it with brutal force. He had been trained not to care and in that, the Weapon X people had been quite successful. To know and understand mercy one has to receive it. This boy never had, not once.

The second hard climax came from the taste of her blood sluicing down his throat.

Logan snarled, trying to fight the duality straining his brain – Wild Child's joyful blood lust and his own disgust at the sight of it. Again he popped claws in his anger, snapping them back only when Asher lightly brushed his arm, asking for patience once more.

"You sees that?" Asher asked, his voice gentle and low.

"That sick fuck!"

Asher sighed softly. "It wuz his first woman."

"So what?" Wolverine spat. He couldn't even look at Famayalin now, all he wanted to do was punish. No woman should ever have to go down so hard.

"Innerestin' way to lose yer virginity, eh? Gotta wonders what that kin do to a fella."

Logan's eyes snapped up to meet Asher's, not sure what he was getting at. Once more he was confronted with a Siskan whose sexual morals did not match his own. So Wild Child popped his own cherry? Big fat deal. All Logan could see was a horror played out before his own eyes.

Asher was waiting. He could see Logan wasn't getting it and he wondered if the man ever would. Wolverine was about justice and punishment here. He would always sympathize with the victim, but sadly, the woman wasn't the only casualty in that room. Logan, in his hatred, couldn't see that Weapon X had finally created exactly what they had wanted – a remorseless killer who felt no guilt.

Asher also knew that this sexual encounter, ugly as it was, would forever taint the boy's idea of what a relationship was. Relationships were very important to the empathic Lushna-esk Siskans, it was the way they were programmed. Every detail was significant. Logan saw a freak on the loose, Asher saw an important pivotal moment of a young human's life being perverted beyond measure. No one should ever experience full sexual pleasure for the first time in this way. He couldn't help but wonder if the boy he held in his arms would ever have a normal love life, a deeply disturbing thought to a creature who held sex and love in such high regard.

The memories continued to play out before them. Once loose and now unrestrained out in the world, Wild Child discovered the joy of cannibalism and feasted greedily on his kills, the blood and fresh meat appeasing to the savage, angry beast within. It seemed as though he had inherited more from Sabretooth's DNA than Logan's, his inner beast a freak out of control.

What was the very best of course, was that for the first time in a long while, he was making his own decisions, he was calling his own shots. It was very liberating. He could do as he pleased – hunt, sleep, eat when he wanted to, not because he was ordered to do so. It was a pleasure he enjoyed down to his very core. He enjoyed the hunt like never before – the bullied had become the bully and it was exhilarating. His anger was allowed to run free and its liberation was a horror the town had never seen before or since.

It wasn't to last. Wild Child was hunted down by his Weapon X masters and eventually recaptured. He had made it easy for them – all they had to do was follow the sounds of screaming and the stench of fresh blood. He had managed to destroy four families before they finally caught up with him. A lot of money had been invested in him, too much for it to go to waste. He was forced through more "rehabilitation" programming which consisted mainly of another helping of mind altering drugs and savage beatings.

Logan again watched helplessly now as his mind was flooded with Wild Child's memories, the years of this that the boy was forced to suffer. Wild Child would be good for a time, then he would lose it and get passed through the grinder once more. He had never forgotten the delight of his exploits outside the facility and managed to get out twice more before he was finally brought under control, such as it was. Both times he got out it was the same, full scale slaughter of families and the savage raping of the women. His sexual orientation was firmly in place - he never once touched the men, it was the smell and feel of a woman he craved and it had become the primary force behind his escapes.

Both times he was caught and recycled, Weapon X trying to recoup the monetary loss in his creation as best they could. He would get put into groups for government work, but invariably he failed. He had no friends, no one who could stand to be near him. No one wanted to be seen with this reject, this scrawny young feral freak. Eventually they gave up on him and he was cycled out and dumped into a prison cell, left to rot on his own for over a year.

Wolverine shuddered with some remorse. Neither he nor anyone else had questioned Wild Child's disappearance from the regular Weapon X roster. Given his horrific behavior, it had come as no surprise really. It wasn't much long after that anyhow that Weapon X had moved on to their next experiment - the Adamantium bonding process. Logan had gone through it and went mad, destroying Weapon X on his way out and leaving that life behind for good. Wild Child was hardly his concern then or after.

It was now however, and he was seeing just what had happened to the poor boy now that Weapon X was done with him. They had taken him to a military prison, having nowhere better to take him. Here now was Wild Child, a creature with enhanced senses forced to live in a five by five cell, a solitary room. He was kept naked and fed scraps on a single metal plate. There were no facilities here, they saw he'd grown beyond that. They just hosed down his cell with him in it every night, not caring about the cold. His healing factor would keep him alive.

If Logan had thought Wild Child had gone mad before, it was worse now. He regressed to a child, a savage child that flung himself at the door each time anyone approached, his need for the comfort of others washed away in an uncontrollable desire to punish the world and all those in it for having even birthed him, for keeping him alive.

Wolverine was conflicted. He got that justice was being served, that Wild Child was now imprisoned for his crimes, but jeez, it was no way to really live. He knew the world was cruel, but this? Wild Child had tried so hard and his reward was a single stone cell, a plate of moldy food, and the hose. He swallowed down a swell of pity. Of course Logan had feelings like any other human, it was just that he had gotten good at suppressing them. He had to suppress them, it was his way of coping with his own inner beast. He was back under control when he realized he was missing the next chapter.

There was a crash and a boom, an explosion in the prison, and then Wild Child was looking up into the eyes of the strangest man he had ever seen. It was a lion man, a Dognan man. Jael looked down on him and smiled. "Oh, yes. This one will do just nicely."


	3. Chapter 3

(Three)

"No," Logan complained, trying fruitlessly to move away.

"No, what?" Asher asked softly.

"This is all bullshit."

"Is it? Surely you recognized yer own voice screamin' at ya? Didn'cha hear the truth of it?"

Wolverine couldn't argue. If the sharp bitter memory of his own face shouting torrents of bitter abuse and insults at Wild Child was familiar enough, seeing Jael had to be true as well. He looked down into the pale blue eyes of Wild Child's distorted cougar's face, seeing only the quiet desperation of one simply waiting to die. In spite of Logan being educated, all Famayalin still wanted was the ice cold of Logan's metal claws separating his head from his neck. It was probably the only sure way he could die. _**Kill me,**_ those eyes were demanding. _**/ I'm trash. I know it, you know it. Let's just do the world a favor, huh? C'mon, do it. **_

"Either let me up or finish this," Wolverine grumbled to Asher, turning away. He couldn't look in those eyes any more.

"As ya wish."

Wild Child was liberated from the cell and taken to Jael's lair. If he thought he was going to be returned to civilized society, he was sadly mistaken. He was put in a nice roomy cave with a door made of bars, keeping him from escaping. He didn't mind the confinement all that much, not for long. Jael had freed him with a purpose in mind, one that Wild Child was happy enough to fulfill. His new name was Grog (a private joke on Jael's part) and he was, simply put, Jael's little garbage disposal. Jael had been going around collecting mutants for his army and they all had their special jobs to do. The Dognan warrior had recognized in Wild Child a hunter, one who might enjoy the taste of human flesh. Anyone who crossed the terrorist was punished by being fed to Grog who happily complied with his new master's wishes.

Grog had no reason to argue. He had more space than his previous prison cell, wasn't tortured, and hey, the food was better. Here he was allowed to hunt his prey freely with no punishment to follow. They didn't even bother to hose him down afterwards. They wanted him to stink, it added to the fear factor and he was mentally too far gone to care. His hair grew wild and before long, he had a long scraggly beard, full of bones and old food.

Here was fresh meat, and plenty of it. The men he hunted down and feasted on. The women, well, he took them sexually and with the same brutal force he had his previous rapes, never seeing them as anything other than what they were to him - things to be enjoyed before being consumed. Their screams meant nothing to him, he could have cared less that they suffered. These memories made Logan sick to his stomach. As animalistic as he was, he had never once found pleasure in taking a woman by force. He had murdered men for less.

When there weren't any available prisoners for him to eat, Jael, being anti-human, gleefully fed Grog as many human children as he could steal. Wolverine knew Jael was evil incarnate, but this was an extreme he had never before seen. He wanted to rip and shred and tear Jael's body to pieces, but that job had already been performed by someone else. All he could do now was simply deal and keep watching.

Before long, the floor of Grog's lair was littered with the bones of his meals and ripe with the smell of decay and excrement. Hell had found him indeed and he reveled in it.

Sometimes, if Jael was feeling especially sociable, he might watch as Grog hunted down his prey, praising his beast when the job was done. Jael never stayed to watch him eat, it was simply more than he could stand, but the hunt brought out the savage in him. That was fun, oh yes. Especially when one of those victims had been personal, as he watched the Clansman Joseph scream for a mercy that never came.

"Mutherfucker!" Logan swore. Joseph had come home with the X-men when they had originally been kidnapped by the Dognan. The man had not been pleasant, but that didn't mean he deserved to die like some kind of animal. Joseph had run away from the X-men's mansion and disappeared though they had suspected this was where he had ended up. Here now was their proof.

Logan's grumbling didn't stop then. No, it accelerated when he was next given the memory of when he and the X-men had stormed Jael's lair looking for the terrorist. Logan had gotten separated from the team and here now was a nice little playback of something he had missed. Cyclops, the team's field leader, and his wife Jean had gone looking for Jael and found Grog's cave instead.

Grog, clever thing that he was, used the cries of his latest meal - a small child - to lure the X-men inside his lair. Cyclops would never refuse the cries of a child pleading for rescue. He recklessly charged inside where Grog pounced on him. Here was that oh so satisfying squeal of pain as Grog slashed Cyclops down the side, ripping him open with his claws.

Logan and Cyclops had never gotten along and for a moment, there was some shared deep satisfaction in hearing the man curse and fumble about in the dark as he bled. As much as Wolverine disliked Scott, he wasn't thrilled for long with hearing his teammate cry out in pain. It was the protector in him. He didn't like to see any of his team mates harmed. Of course poor Grog once more got his as he was dragged out by Cyclops' powerful and telekinetic wife, Jean, and was next smashed into a wall.

Logan watched next as some of Jael's other followers came to rescue him from her, feeling Kyle's intense disappointment even as Grog hid his despair and went along. What would have been more divine than to have that fiery redheaded woman be the one to finally set him free of this life? Oh, well. Once more Kyle loses. What a shame.

Wolverine grumbled to himself. He had been told about Grog when the team had debriefed after that mission, but no one had made the connection to Wild Child. Why would they? He hadn't been heard of in years. In this world of many mutants, ferals were a dime a dozen, really.

Grog was shipped off to another lair, another cave, another dull and empty nightmare. Years passed, time lost in a haze of blood and darkness. He was losing what little there was left of himself and he was down to just the most basic levels of existence - hunt, eat, sleep, masturbate once in a while for kicks. Just when he thought it couldn't get any better than this, he was dragged out for a final little show.

He found himself being led into a big room with a small group of people standing around a strange machine. Jael had constructed something and they were all here to admire it. Grog was pleased, he was being allowed to join in, he wasn't forgotten. His sense of joy kept him from taking in the whole scene. There was also a long, automated examining table with restraining straps. The machine was actually an enormous gun on a stand that pointed towards it, waiting.

They lured Grog to the table with meat, laughing. Grog, in his befuddled feral state, didn't get it right away but Logan sure did. This was going to be a treat, the crowd was saying. Yes, they were watching gleefully as Jael's little freak was captured, pinned down and strapped in. This brought back painful memories of Weapon X and Grog howled in protest, his cries lost on the crowd. The table he was on was raised in line with the gun that Jael had pointed at it. The gun was strange and most likely of Dognan design, large enough to be a cannon, Logan could now see. By the time it sank into Grog's tiny childlike mind that he was really fucked now, it was much too late to stop it.

The gist of this was that Jael needed a test subject for his new invention and Grog would serve as well as any other. Logan watched them all laugh again as the gun was activated and a horrible burning energy blasted through Grog's body, stripping away all the fine work that Weapon X had done, leaving only a ragged scrap of flesh in its place.

Wolverine could feel the energy come, felt it as Grog's pure animal strength was drained away. That horrible suffocating feeling as his extra senses become muted. Grog squealed in confusion and pain but no one cared. He was just a thing, an object to be used. Unreal, unloved. Nothing.

It was soon done, the redness passed and the pain was gone. Grog hung in his straps, helpless and exhausted. He was unclipped from the table and he fell to the floor in a ruined heap. Jael, his benefactor for so long, came to him. He said soft words, offering comfort, and Grog responded, falling towards him. Obviously there had been some kind of mistake and he would forgive the Master, yes. Just so long as he could go back to his cave and sleep, he was so tired now.

It wasn't to be. Quick as wink, Jael cut him, slicing him across the chest with a knife he'd had hidden. "Tell me if it heals," Jael commanded to a nearby doctor and left.

For Grog, the pain was unbelievable. It came without the itch of healing he had taken for granted for so long. What he did get was a fierce sense of betrayal. What had he done to deserve this? Wasn't he the perfect pet, always willing to please?

Grog was taken to a small cage in the lab and examined every hour for the next two days. The injury didn't heal at all, in fact the doctor was forced to stitch it or the boy would've prematurely bled to death. The blood wouldn't even coagulate and the wound became infected, giving Jael his answer. His invention worked. His gun would remove the gifts of any mutant placed before it. Satisfied, Jael had Grog brought to him once more. "You've been an excellent test subject, Grog. What a fine lad you've been."

Grog snarled at him and spat, furious at his terrible treatment.

Jael just kicked him and nodded to the group waiting behind him. "Kill him and dump the body in the City."

The others come, all wanting a turn. Razel, Jael's second in command was there with a sneer, "I've wanted to do this for so long..." He gave Grog three savage kicks to the ribs, breaking bones, and let another take his place.

It hurt but Grog was not entirely displeased. He was going to die now and that at least would be good. He groaned in complaint only when the beating stopped and he was still alive. They thought he was dead, but he wasn't, not yet. It didn't matter, he would be soon, the dark grey dim coming for him had told him so. He felt himself being lifted and dumped into a sack. Blackness came and he later woke when his body hit cold, wet pavement. For the first time in years, he heard the sounds of cars and people and realized he was now outside. They had no further use for him now so they dumped him in an alley just like the rest of the trash. That was okay, he didn't really mind, not anymore. Not with death so close.

Back in the holding cell, Logan looked down on Wild Child's face. The boy had closed his eyes and tears were leaking out. But was there just the faintest of smiles on his face? "What's he so happy about?" he asked Asher, confused.

Asher just smiled. "Famayalin is about to relive the only time he wuz ever happy. Too bad it didn't last vera long."

Grog looked up when he saw a bright shimmering light come towards him. Reaching through the rain and garbage, a slender white hand came out to touch him. "There you is, just like the spirits said ya would be."

Grog laughed at the voice, it was so very kind and loving as if an angel had come to take him up to Heaven. "Mrr! T-takes me!"

The hand obeyed, yanking him up close. Grog looked up into the bright green eyes of Skye and smiled drunkenly. He never questioned it when the angel leaned in to kiss him and then he was filled with a great peace and love as Skye blasted him with his Kundatesh empathy, blowing his mind and taking away all of his pain. Oh, yes, Grog couldn't help but think. He couldn't quite make it to Heaven in this condition so it must have come down to him. Nothing had ever felt as good as this.

"Calls me Master," the angel demanded.

"Mrr! Master!" Grog croaked happily and blacked out.

He woke hours later only to discover he was somehow still alive. Or at least it must be so. He was still in this body at least and it was hurting again. The Kundatesh Skye had used had worn off. Grog had been cleaned and placed on a bed, covered up all warm and cozy. He started to whimper from the pain and the angel came back to him, bringing water and soft comforting kisses that were more powerful than words could ever have been. Grog didn't fight it when he was once more blasted with that great love and all his pain faded away. Never had he been kissed like this and he offered no resistance even though the angel seemed to be a man. Grog had never seen an angel before and knew even less about them, but who was he to argue with one who so clearly wanted to help him?

Fueled by his victim's apparent ease with his new situation, the angel embraced him and then yes, he was turned onto his side. Grog was groggy indeed, high, but not so high not to realize that things were not quite as they seemed. This angel was hugging him and then, then, the guy was penetrating him, stabbing into him painfully with a blunted weapon hard as steel. When it finally occurred to the boy what was going on, that this wasn't exactly the version of Heaven he had expected, he thrashed in protest and fear. This stupid angel was fucking him? Fucking him like everyone else had done! Using him for their own sick pleasure! Was he being tricked now? What the hell!

"Shush now, this is fer the healin'," the angel whispered into his ear with that soft and silky voice, all the while still holding him down.

Being restrained only intensified Grog's fear and suspicion and he thrashed, trying to escape. As he moved, his many broken bones ground roughly together and he cried out again in real pain. Betrayal again! He snarled, angry now but was next pacified with a wave of Kundatesh, of a love so brilliant it stupefied him.

The angel began to whisper to him words of honey that killed his fear. Grog was gone, there was only Kyle back again and then came another name. "Oh, my good Famayalin. M' Little Lion. How sweet ya are. Kin ya feels me inside of ya? Lovin' ya?"

"Mmrr!" he protested, not exactly in agreement.

"Just relax now. See? That's better. Yer so fine. So tight and fine. Such a tasty little alpha, yes," Skye purred, using his slang term for mutants. "Feels me now. Feel m' love fer you. Let it come an' you'll feels no more pain an' fear. That's it. Such a good boy. What a fine lion yer gonna be."

Lion? What the fuck did that mean? The boy thrashed with renewed fear and that was when it happened, the strangest thing he had ever seen. Red, sparkling glitter came from those glowing hands and cascaded over his skin. If he had thought the Kundatesh was good, this was something on a whole new scale. The sensation was indescribable. Glorious heat and pleasure flooded his brain and shot right through his body right where the angel had been hurting him most, making him jerk and climax violently with a roar, a lion indeed. It was the hardest he had ever cum in his life. It was also more than he could stand – he gasped, shuddered with ecstatic aftershocks, and then flooded with love and bliss on a scale he had never known before, simply passed out.

Wolverine, now experiencing this himself, was torn. Once more he was confronted with rape and it angered him, but this wasn't a matter of torture. No, this was a whole new thing entirely. He had heard Gambit, a man who had taken more than one of these Siskans for a spin or two, whisper softly at times about empathic sex, teasing gently that it was like having an orgasm on Crack. Only such a bizarre description could be so apt.

Being a creature of senses himself, Wolverine was painfully aware of just how much Grog had enjoyed this. When Grog later awoke, this mysterious angel took him again and again, using this new magic each and every time. Grog, now Famayalin, never fought back once, not since that first time. This was a whole new thing, something the kid had no real reason to fight. The actual act of sex had been obliterated by the sensory input, by the shivers of pleasure tearing right through him.

Logan was forced at this point to take a step back and really think this out. Skye was using pleasure as a weapon and what a fine weapon it was indeed. This kid's previous sexual experiences had all been tainted by violence from the beginning. He had started out in the streets molested by filthy men, giving blow jobs for money just to survive, not because it was anything he had ever enjoyed. Later, when he finally broke out from Weapon X, he had essentially lost his virginity by savagely raping and beating a woman to death. There was no doubt about the boy's orientation, after that first time with a woman, the kid had never expressed a sexual interest in a man. The men Jael had tossed to him as Grog were always hunted and then eaten, never messed with. The women however, Grog had raped each and every one. Now Skye was teaching him something new - that sex could come without beatings and blows and blood. As screwed up as Skye was, he was at the same time curing and reshaping the boy's mind into something better.

And not just his mind, as he watched over and over again, Logan could feel Famayalin's animal sense of hearing and scent come back alive, a thrill just as great as the waves of love stroking the hurt inner child that had raged within. This had to be the same experience Remy had had with Kimble — no wonder Gambit's head had turned for a short time. This was intoxicating and terribly, terribly addicting to poor shattered Famayalin lost in its spell.

Famayalin was bombarded with pure pleasure, coupled with that soft and lovely voice. One that promised him love and comfort. This angel was his friend, would be his Master. Famayalin was finally loved and important, desired and accepted for who he was, as he was. He had a job to fulfill, the angel told him, and they would do it together. They would slay the evil man Jael and free the world. Famayalin could care less about that. What he craved was the love. It made him drunk, it made him high, it made him cum harder than he ever had before, blacking him out every time.

And that was the thing, you know? The more this happened, the better he felt. Stronger. As the days passed, he could hear, smell, and see like he had before, but it came without the harsh demands of a military environment or a cave full of dead people's bones. There was an itch in his legs, but it didn't hurt. Not even when they began to change shape. It was the same with his face. His teeth were growing and his nose was moving out, becoming cat like and accommodating his new fangs. The madness that had clouded his brain for so long was fading quickly, killing his great anger and despair and leaving him all the more receptive to Skye's overtures of love.

And there were overtures, indeed. Skye was relentless in his seduction. First he healed Famayalin's body, and then his heart. He lavished attention on the boy, washing him with painstaking care, massaging those poor aching muscles until the bruises were gone. Skye cooked and fed him the finest of foods before settling on Famayalin's apparent favorite – raw human meat. Skye hunted for his lion and fed him his kills, giving him the blood he craved without the violence. He was affectionate, taking Famayalin to his bed and simply holding him, kissing him, touching him with nothing but the tenderest love.

The right or wrong of this thing that had started out as rape or coercion had faded quickly from Famayalin's mind. He put up with the sex at first, hating the pain of it, but before long, as the pain came less and less, grew to not only enjoy it, but to crave it deeply, doing anything his Master wanted only to experience the Morrowhiem again and again. He obeyed his Master and didn't complain when he got punished for doing the occasional thing wrong. Skye's favorite tool of correction was a large bull whip he kept in a tall wooden case. Yes, the whipping hurt, but the healing? One session with the Master was worth a thousand whippings. He did anything he was commanded to do, sexually or otherwise. He was in Heaven, such as it was, and he just didn't care. He now had all the personal attention he could ever desire. He was content in a way he had never known before.

For the first time ever, Famayalin had the full one on one relationship real love demands. The sex was mind blowing with the empathy and Morrowhiem, the boy never stood a chance even though he wasn't actually gay in the true sense. He was smitten and fell hard, giving over his heart and his very soul. This was why the separation now was so hard and heartbreaking.

A flash of intimate memories sped through Logan's mind – the pair lying on a bed, basking in the afterglow of a skin tingling round of play, Skye lazily running his fingers through Famayalin's sweat soaked hair. Another memory had Famayalin crouched at his Master's feet, being fed by hand from his Master's plate, affection passed along with every bite. But Famayalin's favorite? Skye shaving him. There was nothing more intimate and loving than when Skye's hands touched him oh so gently as he used a straight razor to scrape away the rough stubble from his face. It was personal, close, and full of what the boy desperately craved – tenderness.

Logan struggled to process what he was being shown because it was only from Famayalin's perspective, the one being seduced. Wolverine knew better, he knew Skye was sick. He also knew Skye was most likely split as well. This was the term for a Siskan that was so damaged, its psyche shattered into more than one personality. Skye had been split in the past, that was fact, but he had supposedly been repaired. What Wolverine was seeing now made him question if that repair had held. The Skye that Famayalin was dealing with didn't switch voices or anything like that, but Logan knew better than to trust this seemingly perfect Master.

Skye was a user, a person who did what he had to to get what he wanted and then he moved on, not caring about the one he had just discarded. He had once tricked Gambit, a man wise about Siskans, into freeing him from one Master and placing him in a home where he could escape out onto his own. That hadn't been easy. It only showed just how clever this evil little snake in the grass really was. What Skye was doing now was presenting Famayalin with a persona the kid would never be able to resist and it had worked. Skye was getting what he wanted even though in reality, he had other plans.

Famayalin was about to find out what those plans were, it seemed. The memories continued to play and Logan watched as Famayalin's bliss dulled his hearing in certain respects. It was too easy to ignore the words his Master had later said when he was told that they couldn't handle Jael alone, that another lion was needed to help them. It only hit home what that actually meant the day the Master came home with someone new. Skye had found Sabretooth, called him Kristalay, and the twosome was now a threesome.

"Cripes," Logan muttered, feeling Famayalin's betrayal as if it was his own. Just how much more does this kid have to suffer? Not Sabretooth, anyone but him. Wolverine knew this already, but he was feeling it now as Famayalin did then and it hurt deeply, like a stab right through the heart.

Jael had used the same depowering gun on Sabretooth, beaten him even worse than he had Grog, and left him for dead on the X-men's front lawn as a warning. Skye, with his way of knowing things, had stolen what was left of the man for himself. He was going to heal him in the same way he had Famayalin.

Like Famayalin, Kristalay fought Skye at first, but soon begrudgingly succumbed the Siskan's will. It didn't mean his character had fully changed. He was still Sabretooth inside and Sabretooth was predictable in so many ways. He was ever the survivor and made the best he could of whatever situation he found himself in, no matter how bizarre. It came as no surprise to Logan when Kristalay made it quite clear early he wasn't about to take third place. No, he would be top dog - or top lion, so to speak - of the two subordinate slaves. Wolverine watched as poor Famayalin hopelessly tried to defend his place at his Master's side and lost.

The pair had fought savagely one day in the Master's large bathroom and Famayalin had gone down hard, but down he had gone. It had been bloody and fierce, possibly the worst thing Logan had ever seen, made all the worse from its being from Famayalin's point of view. The pair had clawed and gored one another, their renewed healing factors keeping them going. It had ended with a brutal rape, with Kristalay possessing the boy's body for himself and demanding his submission once and for all. Famayalin hadn't been strong enough to win, he broke and shattered a bit inside, especially when Skye had stood there and done nothing to stop it. What choice did Famayalin have then?

He now had to submit to Kristalay in all things, and he did not share well. He still felt his Master's touch even though it was nowhere near as much as it had been before, leaving him lonely and bitter. He still did his best to please, but once more his attempts were overshadowed by Kristalay. During the Game, when they had finally gotten down to the work Skye had stolen them for, Famayalin had managed to retrieve two more Siskan Courtesans from Jael, a good thing, but it was Kristalay who had Jael's blood on his hands. Skye had wanted a point and shoot weapon, someone to deal out his own revenge. He hadn't cared which lion would do it, only that one might succeed. Of course it had been Kristalay who had gotten the one kill that had truly mattered to Skye. It was Kristalay who had earned the Master's praise when they had all found each other again afterwards. Kyle had failed once again.

Not that their reunion had lasted long. They had all been locked up immediately following the Game and while that by itself might have been tolerable, here now was Logan, Famayalin's oh so favorite person, fucking yelling at him again. Threatening him. Desiring his blood.

Famayalin had called and called to his Master for rescue but Skye had not responded. No, Skye had gotten what he had wanted – Jael's death – and could care less what happened to Famayalin or Kristalay now. Kristalay hadn't minded all that much but Famayalin was devastated. What a stupid waste of time. There was no love in this world, not one that was real, one that would never betray. Famayalin had reached his end. He refused to eat, knowing it might kill him eventually. Just three days away from the Master's magic and he could already feel some of his strength failing. The boost he had received rom Skye's Kundatesh was starting to fade. All the better. He wanted to be done.

Wolverine opened his eyes, this bizarre journey now finished. He looked into Famayalin's pale blue eyes and saw only defeat.

"Mrr! K-kill me!" the boy grunted.

"No," Logan replied softly, sick from all this.

Famayalin let go with a loud sob and began to cry, bawling now. Reminded once more of that once perfect love with Skye, it hurt all the more to be without it now. He still didn't get it that Skye was only using him and that it hadn't been real love the way it should be. All he knew was that if he couldn't have it anymore, all he wanted now was death. What could he possibly have left to live for?

"Shush now, kitten," Asher soothed quickly, releasing Wolverine in order to hold the boy tightly. "S'okay ta crys, but don'cha gives up on me."

Logan heard Karen come, followed by Max. They had heard Famayalin's outburst and came to investigate. Wolverine couldn't look at her, he covered his face and tried to regain control. He was being swamped by guilt. If he had only paid better attention when Kyle was first given to him maybe all this could have been prevented. He could see Kyle's suffering, see how the highs and lows of the poor boy's life at times reflected his own. So much pain and suffering they had shared. It was like an evil sickness.

"No," Asher said to him as if reading his thoughts. "Ya knows what evil is? It's the lack of empathy fer others. A complete lack of compassion. No one knows this more'n a Kintay du Lushna-esk Siskan, my friend."

Logan had heard that term before – Kintay du Lushna-esk. Aiden, one of the surviving Siskans of the Game, had coined that phrase to describe himself. A Kintay, one of the "Touched", was a Siskan who through systematic abuse, had also gained additional powers and skills. Gifts, but those that came with a heavy price. Most of the Siskans who had survived the Game fell into this class, including Skye.

Asher continued, "That's what makes us what we are, even Skye in his way. Skye's just been corrupted by that evil. He treats his clients the way he wuz treated, like a possession, just sumpthin' ta be used."

Logan sat back on his heels and shifted away. His eyes were wet and he wiped at them, not letting his tears fall. Famayalin had stopped bawling now, he was turned into Asher's chest and gasping out the last of his tears. One clawed hand covered his face.

"Do ya sees him now?" Asher asked, his hands still holding his precious charge. "Really sees?"

"Yeah," Logan replied, his voice harsh and scratchy. He could hear Karen pacing just outside the cell and was thankful she was perceptive enough to leave him be for the moment. She was letting this ride, waiting to see what his responses were going to be. He wondered if she and Asher had planned this all along. It wouldn't have surprised him. Sometimes when you're dealing with as tough a subject as himself, desperate measures had to be taken.

"Sees him. Sees him now he does, oh yes," Smee mumbled, back on Asher's shoulders, his light purple whiskers twitching. "With all of his eyeses."

Asher stroked his pet, his eyes on Logan. "It wuz yer DNA that changed him, what tooks a boy an' made him sumpthin' not made fer this world. It wuzn't yer doin', I ain't saying that, but maybe you kin takes some of the responsibility fer it."

Wolverine looked up at him sharply. "What?"

"You got some pups at home, eh? They ain't so old now, but they's gonna be teenagers someday. What if they turn out like Kyle here? You wouldn't turns 'em away, they's yer kids. Right now, there ain't much more seperatin' this pup from thems. He's yer kin, James. He's yer son. How could ya turns him away?"

"I- I couldn't," Logan stammered awkwardly, the twist of words making him see just what Asher was getting at. "I wouldn't turn him away. I won't."

Famayalin stopped his sobbing and he looked up at Logan in puzzlement. "Mrr?"

"I wouldn't turn ya away an' I ain't gonna," Wolverine repeated, holding out his hand in invitation. "We'll work this out. Don't know how just yet, but we'll figure it out somehow. The both of us, together. Startin' over. What do ya say?"

Famayalin sat up drunkenly, not quite believing what he was seeing. He wasn't sure he could trust it, it was too soon.

"Don't be afraid, kitten," Asher soothed, his voice gentle. "You gots nuthin' ta lose in acceptin', an' everathin' ta gains."

Famayalin seriously considered this new option he had just been given. This man who had hated him so, was actually offering the first hand of real friendship he had ever been given. The truth was, he had been under someone else's authority for so long, he was unsure and shaky all on his own out here. In his fragile state of mind, he simply couldn't refuse it. Not when it was offered so willingly. Not when he had seen that they both shared a bond of pain and suffering. They had a lot more in common than he ever could have realized. They had both been shoved through the Weapon X grinder and survived to live another day. They had both lived through long periods of time where their fates had been decided by cruel men. They had both been possessions. They had both suffered through the black rages. It might be enough to hold them together as something more than just enemies.

Famayalin, weak now from this emotional ordeal and lack of food, showed his acceptance by flopping forward onto his shaky arms, almost spilling into Logan's lap. He whimpered softly in pain as Wolverine's big strong arms reached out for him and pulled him close in an awkward hug. He was squeezed and felt a blast of Logan's body heat as the man grasped him tightly. "I'm so sorry, kid," Logan was apologizing. His bargain with Asher was forgotten, this was an apology from the heart. "I'm so sorry."

"Mrr! Huh-help me!" Famayalin pleaded. "May'lin tired!"

"Don't ya worry 'bout that. I'll get the doc ta help ya out. You just sit quiet now. Ya hungry?"

"May'lin tired," he repeated and went slack. He offered no resistance as Logan shifted and picked him up to lay him on the bed. Asher had risen stiffly from the floor himself and handed him a blanket, helping Logan to get the kid situated. Famayalin curled up and fell asleep quickly all on his own, his heart at peace for the first time since Skye had so horribly betrayed him.

"Come," Asher said to Logan and tugged on him gently, pulling him out into the hallway. Once there, he locked Wolverine with his eyes and spoke, "Ya got yer ears open, James. Now listen good. The diff'rence 'tween a man an' a monster is fergiveness. I knows ya thinks I'm just some sort of fucked up Jesus wannabe, but you best git this straight. Ya cain't have peace an' hope without fergiveness. You done wrong an' been fergiven fer it. Pass on that kindness given ta ya and learn from it. This kid could be a fighter on our side, he's got so much loves ta give, it's just burstin' right outta him. Use it. Help him. Save him. Save yerself."

Asher then gave Logan a swift kiss on the cheek, one the poor bewildered man didn't have the wits about him to argue with, and clopped off, his head down and tired. He had been here awhile and was drained from his work.

Logan watched him go, feeling no less tired himself. His head down, he nodded at Karen and took his leave. He needed to move, to breathe some fresh air. He considered going to the underground Solarium, but instead found himself simply heading home. His apartment here at the Complex was quiet but not empty. His two daughters were in group play sessions right now for all the poor shell shocked children here at the Complex, but his son, Carter, was home, being watched over by a nanny.

He nodded a quick greeting to the nanny and went to his son's room. He couldn't help himself but pull the boy right up into his arms and hold him tightly. Of his three children, Carter was the only one who had come out X-gene positive. He was dark haired and serious just like his father, a Logan if there ever was one. His fingertips were slightly disfigured, showing he would later have the taloned hands of his uncle Kristalay. At just past a year old, it was too early yet to see if he would also inherit the same bone claws of his father.

Logan held his son and breathed in his scent, happy beyond measure when the boy gurgled happily against him and returned his embrace freely. Up close now, Logan was struck at how similarly the two youngsters smelled, Carter and Kyle. It brought a sting of tears to Logan's eyes, a sharp stab of regret and hope.

"You okay, Mr. Logan?" the nanny asked with some concern. It wasn't like him to come home during the day like this, but then they had all been through so much these past days.

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing his face against his son, wiping away the tears. "I am now."

**Finis**

Up next: Rogue and Simone, oh my!


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